


kept like mistresses (by kneeling married men)

by WhimperSoldier



Series: under the small fire of winter stars [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Multi, Northern Independence AU, slowly building to the story i originally set out to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 12:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14693979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimperSoldier/pseuds/WhimperSoldier
Summary: The wolf-girl was trouble, Jon said, noting the way Rhaegar's eyes had followed her across the camp, flowers woven into her hair in a mock crown. The prince knew himself, better than his wife seemed to think, and he could not disagree with his friend. Lady Lyanna was everything he had been told a woman was not.She was proficient with a sword, had tanned the hides of three squires within hours of her arrival, sent the knights of the realm into a frenzy, what with her open beauty and tendency to accept all tokens gifted to her, and had ensnared the affection of his wife, the latter being a remarkable feat. His heart had almost torn its way out of his chest when he’d entered their shared rooms to find the princess, one crowned in a wreath daisies the other in gold, sprawled across the bed in sleep, their dark hair twined together across the pillows.It escalated quite quickly from there.





	kept like mistresses (by kneeling married men)

**Author's Note:**

> This was not planned and I don't even care. The title is misquoted and taken out of contexts but was liked so much that i used it anyways and is from Carol Ann Duffy's Little Red Cap.
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos or tell me something you might want to see in this universe!

Lyanna thought Herrenhall would look much grander, like the carcass of a giant beast, or the misshapen lumps of scorched earth, but instead it looked like a castle sieged, and a continuing sign of power for the ruling family of these lands.

A click of her tongue and her horse moved with her, a fluid extension of herself. There was little cause for riding in the swamps of the neck, so any opportunity to ride was one she took with gusto. She was a day earlier than the procession of Reeds coming down from the neck. Crossing the Neck had been a pain, the elders were forced to grow their own bridge across the rivers to avoid the exuberant fee of the Freys.

Only Howland came with her, small in stature but big in heart, he was the closest thing to a friend she’d gotten in the neck.

Originally she hadn’t wanted to squire there, Bear Island had been her first choice, but the Ironborn were becoming more clever, their ships quick enough to cut through the storms and raid along the shoreline. Not even a magic user could take on hundreds of bloodthirsty ravagers. It was the death of a lord’s daughter that cut off all chance of Lyanna calling Bear Island home. Instead she was sent to the Neck.

It was her mother’s choice, far from the perils of the North but with just enough danger to satisfy her thirst for adventure. It was a good call on her part, with the Neck offering the parts of life Lyanna had not thought to ask for, including a look into the lives of the Southrons she’d heard so many stories of.

Now, Lyanna found them posh and spoiled with fertile land and plentiful rivers. The wildlife was bountiful in the forests and fell easily to her bow and knives. Even the ground itself was kinder, with no ice sheets to fall through or false moss beds that gave with the wrong step. She wondered if these knights she had heard so much about were as soft as the place where they lived.

“Lyanna, slow down!” Howland called, bouncing uncomfortably on his horse. He was smaller than her so he held the tent and supplies, his hands clutching the reins with one hand, the other splayed protective over his saddlebag.

“We need to set up camp!” She called, pressing her knees into her horse’s side and spurring her into a gallop, riding into the sea of colored tarps to the waving banners of the Targaryen flag. It was easy to spot a man in charge, he was the one whose hand fell to rest on his sword the moment Lyanna cantered into the square. He was talking with another man, tall but delicate, with vivid white hair.

“Where are the Reed’s of the North to set up camp?” She called, letting her voice echo to the gathered men looking on her with a mix of awe and annoyance. A single raised eyebrow and a woman stepped forward, just as beautiful and delicate as the man with waves of dark black hair framing a soft feminine face.

“You are with the Reeds?” She asked. Lyanna nodded, noting the pretty accent. “Beyond that ridge is where we had planned for you to set up. Is that agreeable…?”

She left the question open, asking for both a name and agreement. Lyanna just smiled, twisting the reigns around her hand and spurring her horse to turn to where the woman had pointed.

“That will work perfectly.” Lyanna moved forward.

“And your name, young woman?” A man asked, older, with his dark hair streaked with white. She smiled blindingly.

“Lyanna will do just fine.” And with that, she pushed into a gallop, her laughter echoing through the tents as a starstruck royal family watched her race away.

~ ~ ~

Elia had grown up on stories of Dornish power and strength, how they fought off the conqueror himself, how they stood tall when others fell underfoot, but the North was always an outlier in these stories. They knew not how to play the game.

Despite pressure from the throne, never once had a Northern royal married into the Targaryen dynasty. The Dornish knew how the world was supposed to work, but the North seemed to run themselves on a different set of rules, as shown in the wild-haired woman who called the land home. She sighed, watching the men practice from under an awning; she’d had a rather rough night and Rhaegar had demanded she remain out of the sun. As if that would be the thing to kill her, she thought, she was born to the sun.

Elia knew her husband, saw the flash of interest in his eye that had been missing for years, since that prophecy curled it’s way into his heart and took root. She watched the mess of black curls wind their way through a gathering of Reeds, dressed in a loose tunic and tight breeches, face flushed from running and hair damp, most likely from the stream.

She wondered if the woman had gone in naked, surrounded as they were by men of considerable strength. Her thoughts then turned to magic while her fingers absentmindedly stitched.

Maybe the woman knew these mystical practices? Perhaps that is why she laughed off her husband’s guard as if he was a child with a wooden sword. Elia shook her head, bringing her eyes down to her embroidery, watching the wolf take shape on the vibrant yellow fabric.

“What do you know of the North, Jon?” She asked. Jon Connington sat beside her, there by order of her husband. She might as well have him work for the fine Northern-gifted wine he was polishing off.

“Besides their fairy tales? They are a poor kingdom comprised mostly of farmers and hunters. Rich in wood and little else. A bunch of savages, known to spur the heads of trespassers on pikes along their shores. The crown has tried for decades to broker a deal for sea rights or travel but they hold as firm a hold on their land as their weather does on their moods. Sour bunch if I ever saw one.”

“So what do you make of our Reed friends?” She asked, lopping a stitch to frame the wolf’s snarling muzzle, her chosen red string making it look like blood on it’s maw. “Surely a learned man such as yourself thinks more of them than the laymen?”

“You mean beyond “frog-eaters”, is that what you are asking me, princess?” He laughed lightly, smiling at her. She inclined her head, catching sight of her husband weaving his way over. Elia played with the idea of fainting dramatically but threw it away when she spotted the lines of worry along Rhaegar's brow.

“Have you been into our chambers since the morning?”

“No,” Elia could feel her fingers bunch up the fabric. “What has happened?”

“Nothing,” Rhaegar tried to smile, but his handsome face only folded in uncertainty. She jabbed him in the side, glaring at him until, with a wave of his hand, he sent the guards away and took up the spot Jon vacated. He sighed before glancing her way. “It really might be nothing.”

“Or it might be something,” She pressed. “We both know I’m fairly clever so tell me what you are thinking.”

“Fairly clever,” He laughed with ill humor. “My papers were moved. Not much, just enough to tell me someone had been in our room. One of your trunks was off kilter too.”

“Someone was where they were not supposed to be.” Elia whispered, the crawl of eyes on her sent shivers down her spine. The trill of paranoia forced her eyes to wander aimlessly as her husband rattled through possible suspects, his father at the top of the list.

It was as she was anxiously finishing the last few shades on her crimson wolf did she notice the persistent shake her hand had picked up after a particularly bad fit had vanished. Her eyes flashed to the innocent flask of wine, then to the the wolf-girl who stood watching her from across the hill, her eyes piercing even from so far a distance.

~ ~ ~

The wolf-girl was trouble, Jon said, noting the way Rhaegar's eyes had followed her across the camp, flowers woven into her hair in a mock crown. The prince knew himself, better than his wife seemed to think, and he could not disagree with his friend. Lady Lyanna was everything he had been told a woman was not.

She was proficient with a sword, had tanned the hides of three squires within hours of her arrival, sent the knights of the realm into a frenzy, what with her open beauty and tendency to accept all tokens gifted to her, and had ensnared the affection of his wife, the latter being a remarkable feat. His heart had almost torn its way out of his chest when he’d entered their shared rooms to find the princess, one crowned in a wreath daisies the other in gold, sprawled across the bed in sleep, their dark hair twined together across the pillows.

It escalated quite quickly from there.

~ ~ ~

“You could come south with us,” Elia whispered into the soft skin of Lyanna’s back. Rhaegar was asleep on his side a few hands breaths away. “There the air is warm and we need not worry about propriety.”

“What care have I of propriety?” Lyanna laughed, jostling the prince in favor of curing up beneath Elia’s jaw. The women giggled together, swapping soft kisses for a few moments. Their breaths mingled between them, warmed by the spiced wine they’d had with dinner.

“What do you have waiting for you in the wild and rugged north?” Rhaegar shifted tiredly before flopping gracelessly back down, burying his face in Lyanna’s long curls, a few of which clung to her sweaty back. “A farm can be regrown, a family called south. What grand northern draw keeps you from us?”

Lyanna opened her mouth for a few seconds before shutting it. Elia drew her back.

“How will we see you if you stay in the North?” Elia questioned while brushing the wild curls from her lover’s face. The little wolf smiled sadly, kissing Elia’s mouth and running her fingertips along the plump bottom lip.

“How will I live with myself if I leave?”

~ ~ ~

The thick smog of King’s Landing was forcing her lungs to contract, sending her into hacking coughs. Aegon sat a few feet away, swaddled in pearl white fabric and kicking around in his sister’s arms.

“Elia?”

Rhaegar ran soothing fingers through her loose hair, pressing soft kisses along her sweaty hairline. He had become overly protective of her since she’d fallen sick within the last moons turn. The miracle wine Lyanna had plied her with at Harrenhal had run dry and her body mourned its loss. They had not heard from her in months despite varied letters. Some were from the North, but many come from strange places.

One came from Lannisport, another for Horn Hill, a few from various ravens from the Citadel. The contents had been mundane, if lovely, love letters to them both and promises owed to them. The most recent was from Dorne and tucked between the thin paper was a dried flower, a lily the exact shade as the ones in the Water Gardens. 

Elia wondered late at night if the myths of Northern spirits was not just talk, but if she and her husband had really ensnared a fae from a distant land.

The nurse hustled the children to their rooms, bowing low to her in her chair and Rhaegar who had moved to his desk. She knew her mind would be put to better use thinking over the problem of the building rebellion. No stone had yet been thrown but Elia could feel it like a knife over her neck. The high lords were itching for battle and if it would not come to them, they might have to make it.

There was a clatter in their bedroom, connected to their solar by thin Dornish doors. The paper reflected shadows being thrown across the wall but with his back turned and attention focused on the plans before him, Rhaegar's eyes remained downward.

Elia stood on shaky legs, moving towards the door. She knew she should have called for the guards, her husband, someone, to come, but instead to moved slowly forward, watching the shifting candlelight backdrop something moving behind it.

The door slid open without a sound but Lyanna still looked up from Elia’s vanity, smiling in the mirror, her face a beautiful visage even including the split lip and eye darkened in bruise. At his wife’s breathless exhale that could have been her name, Rhaegar joined her at staring. Lyanna stood, dusting off her trousers despite the fact that they were stained with blood.

“I knew this could never last,” She started, looking down at her feet, not clad in shoes but in fabric wrapped with thin rope. _To avoid making noise_ , a voice in the back of Elia's head whispered, sounding frightfully like her brother. “Too good to be true, I think. Ask your questions. I’ll have not secrets from you, I promise.”

“Who are you?” Rhaegar sounded betrayed and slightly fearful at her quiet statement but Elia only felt disappointed. Why must everything be so hard?

“My name is Lyanna Stark, princess of Winterfell and third in line for the Crown of Winter.”

“You must be joking,” Elia giggled hysterically but felt a creeping horror overtake her when Lyanna only shook her head. It was with great trepidation that she asked the question that was burning.“Why us? You could have had your pick of men and woman, why something so risky?”

Lyanna had tears in her eyes and for the first time in the year they had come to know her, she looked like the child she was, a girl of sixteen. Despite how the answer seemed to pain her, she pushed it out, straightening her back even if the words came out as little more than whispers.

“I was sent to gather information on the state of affairs in the foreign court.”

“And what did you find?” Elia hissed.

Lyanna cried silently.

“Nothing. How could I return to my home and tell my family the truth?” She scoffed. “I would be locked in Winterfell for the rest of my life and married off to some stuffy lord in a far off keep. This was to be my first hunt, proof that I could be a Fox, that I could do as my ancestors have for years, but I _failed_!”

She moved forward, none of the clumsy girl but a sure-footed woman.

“I only had to tell them a single secret, something of importance, so I lied. One thing, but I found myself unable to so much as speak of you. I have trained for years and you have undone me in a month.”

Elia moved forward, pressing a soft palm to Lyanna’s face. The woman bent into her touch.

“My husband misspoke earlier,” Elia started, using her nail to chip away at the blood caked to her lover’s cheeks but made soft by her tears. “We see exactly who you are, Lyanna Stark. But what are you, now that is a different question entirely.”

~ ~ ~

“Foxes go out into the world. We report back the standing of the rest of the countries, the standing in the governments. The rise and fall of regines. Our scholars collect information and from there we intervene as we see fit.” Lyanna’s head was resting in Rhaegar's lap. “The realm is on a precipice between a time at peace and a time in peril. Our greenseers see much death in the coming years and warns against inaction. I have been doing the work of three Foxes alone to compensate.”

“I thought stories of magic were myths,” Rhaegar’s voice was warm, his flaming obsession with that damned prophecy reignited in his eyes. “What do your prophets see of my line?”

Lyanna looked confused. Her shapely brows bunched together and she looked to Elia for some sort of sign but whatever she saw made the look turn soft. She reached out to brush a lock of white hair from his face.

“There are no prophecies, only vague tales told and changed until they fit a desired narrative, or at least that’s what my mother would always say. Our greenseers see possibilities, what might be or might never come to pass. My brother could tell you more, he was always in love with the old magicks, more so than I.”

“The Queen Mother always spoke of a pact between the North and the Targaryens. I always assumed it was myths to cover for their military failure the way they blame the desert for the continued independence of Dorne.” Her joke lightened the dark weight of the room. “What is it like?”

Lyanna went boneless, smiling softly.

“In some ways, much more advanced than the South. Our women hold more rights and power, our daughters can choose their professions seeing as if they are worthy. In other ways, we are quite-” She paused before smiling widely, showcasing the small gap between her middle teeth. “Stark I suppose. Our religion is our life. It is hard to disregard the gods when our very society is founded on them.”

“Do you not resent being sent away?” Rhaegar’s asked, misinterpreting her silence. Elia sighed but it drew a laugh from Lyanna.

“Oh my dear dragon prince, I chose this life not the other way around! If I had been forced into dresses and flowers without ever feeling the freedom of wind whipping through a horse’s mane I would have been lost.” Lyanna thought for a moment before her face solidified with conviction. “My Mother was a warg. She could push her mind into animals.”

She stilled, glancing between them with worry. Seeing their disbelieving but open faces, she continued.

“She would have a hawk at her shoulder for all the years I knew her, which was admittedly few. It was she who showed me the Foxes. After she died my father tried to forbid it but I had already decided. I had hoped to train on Bear Island but...life intervened.”

“We never would have met you on a frozen island in the North,” Elia pointed out, her fingers gripping her skirts to distract herself. Rhaegar took to twisting the perfect curls in his lap.

“My mother fought for my right to choose. My father,” She paused. “He had more wayward ideas. He wished to gain power and never felt comfort in the seat so unknown by the rest of the world. Once the tempering of my mother faded from this realm, so too did his sense.”

“I heard talk of an outside marriage into your royal family. Such a thing has not been done in centuries. To your eldest brother of all people,” Elia moved to the bed, the other two joining her, until they together lay cocooned from the world.

In the silence of the room with only the crackling of a fire to keep them company, Lyana’s lack of response was noted with trepidation.

“My brother has run away. My father says he has been stolen but we siblings know the truth,” She sighed. “He will throw the realm into war for love and what's worse-”

Lyanna choked up, her tears appearing only to drip onto the thin lace of Elia’s dress. She smiled and pressed soft kisses to Elia’s face and the palms of Rhaegar’s hands.

“Why do you cry our little wolf? What is worse?” Rhaegar asked, leaving his lover to curl around them both.

“Because I know that in his place, separated from you by distance and destinies-” She tilted her head up, until the cut of her jaw was glowing in the firelight and the flickering of the flame reflected in her eyes. 

“I would have done the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hit me up on tumbr @ whimper-soldier


End file.
